


You've Got Your Head In the Clouds

by angelgazing



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-20
Updated: 2012-06-20
Packaged: 2017-11-08 04:11:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/438997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelgazing/pseuds/angelgazing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The trouble--like most troubles in Stiles' life--really starts with his complete inability to learn to shut his mouth. || AKA Everyone thinks they're dating! not!fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You've Got Your Head In the Clouds

**Author's Note:**

> Not!Fic. Unbetaed. Shamelessly id-irific. Seriously. The alternate title for this is Nichole Can't Resist These Types of Stories. This is from... 3 months ago? So, no season 2 spoilers/content. Title from "Rumour Has It" by Adele, because I enjoy whatever form a a pun I can find. Don't judge me.

He doesn't think anything of it, when a girl whose name he doesn't even know is like, "Stiles, you are spending a lot of time with that guy that's always hanging around behind people." Stiles assumes it's because she wants to see what's underneath that seasonally inappropriate leather jacket, and just says, "Ha. Hahaha." 

Over the course of the next week, Danny corners him in the locker room to say, "..." and, "You, uh, you seem awfully close with, ah, your cousin." And Stiles--after a pause that probably gives away the fact that he has no idea who Danny is talking about for an entire, you know, practice--says, "Well, you know, we've bonded over... dead parents?" The coach catches him after economics, with an upside down copy of _Lacrosse Monthly_ in front of his face, and mumbles something about open doors, and pressures you shouldn't give into, and the importance of having something to talk to, and ages of consent, and a story involving cougars, whips, and a mysterious misplacement of cherries, before Stiles can remind him that, uh, thanks, his father is the Sheriff, and run home to _bleach every part of his brain_. And Scott bumps his shoulder and says, "Stiles, you've gotten really close to Derek." 

And the trouble--like most troubles in Stiles' life--really starts with his complete inability to learn to shut his mouth. Stiles, who doesn't even have a _here_ high enough to indicate his level of having had it, says, "Well, yes, Scott, it's the fantastic amounts of buttsex. It builds quite the bon--No. No, hello, Brittanys." Brittanies? Brittani? Stiles had never really worked out the plural for the group of four all named Brittany (though none spelled the same) who each tried to out gossip the other, in order the be the _real_ Gossip Girl, like that show wasn't old 4 seasons ago. "That was a joke," he clarifies, just because. "A terrible, terrible joke and I would. I would _never_. I. Ahahaha. JOKE. Joke. Derek is. Derek is not so, um, let's just, pretend that joke never happened, yeah? Cool. Awesome. Because I am not sleeping with Derek Hale. There is absolutely zero sex of any kind happening." And they walk away laughing and Stiles throws his head against his locker and says, "Ever, apparently. With anyone." 

Scott, being the terrible friend that he is, laughs, and pats Stiles on the shoulder and says, "Well, if it's any consolation, Derek seems much less likely to murder you with his teeth lately." 

"I'm just shocked that you used 'consolation' correctly in that sentence," Stiles says, because he's _Stiles_. And also because Scott is not funny. And his life pretty much sucks, but that's actually just par for the course, so he goes about his week, only banging his head on whatever surface is available when the topic of Derek _keeps coming up_. 

And of course, _of course_ , Derek shows up at the end of practice on Friday, and of course, because everything in Stiles' life has to work this way, some smart ass that Stiles has gone to school with since first grade without ever learning his name says, "Hey, Stiles, your boyfriend's here." And seriously, seriously fuck all of his life, because it's not like there's a single chance that Derek didn't hear every word of that, but _whatever_ , what's Derek going to do except look at him like he's the worst thing to happen in Derek's life since that time he got some gum stuck on his shoe? 

Derek, predictably, is just like >:|. Stiles sighs, and doesn't spare a thought to hoping that the unnamed asshole of the day gets hit in the face with a lacrosse bat, because all of Stiles' friends just kind of suck a lot. And really, Stiles is totally not scared of Derek at all anymore. Some combination of prolonged exposure, saving a couple of lives, and catching Derek buried under all the blankets that had ever been in Stiles' room--including his Buzz Lightyear set--mid-cold, cranky, and sporting the most epic bedhead Stiles had ever _seen_. He put the pictures on his Facebook before Derek could untangle himself. Whenever Derek gets especially growly, Stiles just flashes back to that, and ends up grinning like an idiot before he can even work up any decent amount of fear. 

Like now, when he jogs up to Derek because _why not_. And Derek is still just like  >:|. But Stiles has never let that stop him, so he's says, "Look, Grumpy, not that you aren't the highlight of my day or anything, but at some point someone is probably going to call the authorities about the creeper watching high school boys run around in shorts and play with their sticks." 

Derek crosses his arms over his chest, and does his very best Glower of Impending Doom. Stiles ranks it at about a 6.2. "You are an idiot." 

Which, well, _yeah_. But. "I'm the _brains_ of this operation, Pinky," Stiles says, and pokes him in his stupid, bulging, completely unfrightening bicep. 

Derek makes a face like probably the truth of that statement is even scarier to him than it is to Stiles, or he just threw up in his mouth a little, or he realizes that the calm he could probably only achieve by breaking all of Stiles' fingers for poking him will never be his. Stiles pokes him again. Someone in the distance wolf whistles. 

Stiles, seriously hates his _entire life_. 

"So this is going to be a thing again?" Derek asks, tilting his chin out of the field of teenagers attempting to look innocent. 

"Apparently." Stiles spreads his hands in the universal gesture for _what the fuck are you gonna do_. But. "Wait. What? Again?" he asks, over Derek's sigh. "Again?" he repeats, as Derek just gives up and walks away. "AGAIN?" 

Scott and Jackson bookend him, each with a hand on one of his shoulders, like they've suddenly turned into creepy mind twins who are creepy. This whole pack thing is really starting to mess with Stiles' head. Because of all the creepy. "Lover's spat?" Jackson asks with sincerity. Because he's an _asshole_. 

"Don't worry," Scott says, grinning, "I'm sure he'll come around. He always does." 

"You guys should really leave the stand up comedy to me," Stiles says, not bothering to try and shrug them off. "You two won't even make it in the minors, never mind the big leagues." 

And that should be it. It should be! But it's not. Because Derek looms, and Stiles continues to really not be at all frightened of him, and people make so many jokes that Stiles just stops arguing with them. Until he's like, sigh, yeah, yeah, boyfriend, whatever. And Derek is like >:\ Which, honestly, is almost enough change of pace to get Stiles to look up from his 20 billion pages of History notes, except that he is starting to get a little concerned that "werewolves" isn't actually going to fly as a valid reason to flunk out of high school, so. No. 

Stiles may have been a loser. Hell, Stiles may _be_ kind of a loser, but he has not led an uneventful life, and frankly, if he can get used to not having his mom around he can get used to pretty much anything. Werewolves, sure, whatever, normal every day life. Derek Hale? Whatever, no big, it's just Derek. The entire school thinking he's _dating_ Derek Hale... It's just the latest thing, and eventually, like all things before it, it will fade away. Like the Jonas Brothers. 

And it does! It totally fades away and all is as hunky dory as it can be when there are fucking _werewolves_ in his everyday life, but whatever. It's over and done with and Stiles got through it with Derek barely even going like  >:( and Stiles mostly dealt with those by batting his eyelashes and making kissy faces until Derek had no choice but to smile, or look away, or smack Stiles in the back of the head. But it was usually done softly. So how could it be anything but a win? 

Except that, you know, this is still Stiles' life, so. The new girl is kind of a surprise, because new girls are _always_ surprising when you live this kind of life. She's hot, and funny, and Stiles suspects she has an IQ higher than half the lacrosse team combined. And she is avidly, forcefully into Stiles. 

It's cool for exactly five and a half seconds of her kissing him out of the blue in the middle of the hallway, and then Stiles is being flanked by Lydia and Allison on one side, and Danny and Jackson on the other. "Um," he says, holding his hands up. 

"Um," the new girl says, raising an eyebrow. 

"I think there's been a misunderstanding," Lydia says, sweetly. It barely even sounds like she's saying, _you poor dumb girl_. Barely. 

Danny bumps his shoulder into Stiles'. "It can be hard sometimes, when you mistake friendship for a romantic feeling." 

"This has all gone horribly wrong," Stiles says, sliding a hand over his face roughly, like that could wake him from this nightmare. No one pays him any attention. 

"Stiles has a boyfriend," Allison says, and Jackson finishes the scene of horror with, "I mean, I like chicks and I can honestly say he's way hotter than... Well." 

"Horribly, horribly wrong." 

Stiles is spared further horror by Chem class. Stiles is being saved by science. That's how far his life has fallen. He doesn't waste time with Scott, or lacrosse practice, or last period, after that. He just goes straight to Derek's, because there is obviously no one else to better understand the misery of this particular predicament. 

"Everyone thinks we're dating," Stiles wails, falling back on Derek's couch like he's not at all afraid it could fall through the floor. There probably could have been a better opener, because, well. 

"No, shit, really." Derek says dryly. He bats at Stiles' feet on the other end of the couch, but not hard enough to hurt, so Stiles figures he doesn't really mean it. He lifts his legs so that Derek can sit under them though, because this seems like it's probably going to need a good wallow, and those are way better with company. 

"No, like. _Really_." Stiles waves a hand around, like that will clear up something where the entire English language is failing him. If he squints in Derek's direction, it looks like maybe the corner of his mouth has declared mutiny and is trying to creep upward. "Oh my god," he says, as horror continues to dawn. "Oh my god, you think this is _funny_." 

Derek flicks his ankle, and _smiles_. Stiles thinks probably his life is going to end today, and he should have seen it coming before he went into the Big Bad Wolf's house, all alone in the woods. Not even Buzz can save him now. 

"The sheriff and I had a talk about respecting boundaries even if you don't," Derek says, and doesn't even shudder. He also doesn't wait for Stiles to ask. "When he tracked me down at my house, the night you posted pictures of me in your bed on Facebook. Dumbass." 

Which. Well, okay. "Jackson told the entire high school that my boyfriend is hotter than the pretty much all of them, but most especially the new girl." He kicks Derek, just because he can. "She did not respect my boundaries." 

Derek smirks. "You should be in class." He wraps his fingers around Stiles' ankle, like maybe if he got up Derek wouldn't want to let him go. 

"Give me a break here, I'm having a crisis," Stiles says, whining. He throws an arm over his eyes. 

Derek snorts his disbelief, and Stiles doesn't find that even slightly appealing, not even when he asks, "A crisis, huh?" with enough doubt to weigh the words down so low they're dragging through the ground, getting rough and dirty. 

"I kissed a girl," Stiles admits, very seriously, "and I didn't like it." 

He doesn't know what he expects to happen, but none of it does. Derek keeps his grip on Stiles' ankle, smirking like he's just won a prize he'd always known was his, and says, "Good." Like that's it, problem all solved. 

But what the hell, Stiles thinks, sitting up more just so he can lean in, maybe it is.


End file.
